Marked
by deepfriedcake
Summary: Giving Lorelai and Luke an extra little push to get their act together in late Season 7. Please don't take me to task for any historical inaccuracies, just be happy that my heart's in the right place!


**A/N:** A rarity from me, a late Season 7 reconciliation fic. The inspiration for it is at the end. (And sorry I keep throwing one-shots at you instead of finishing up my long-running stories. I'll get back to them, I promise!)

* * *

"So I hear you got a tattoo."

Although he said it with the perfect blend of teasing and genuine interest, I responded by clutching my coffee mug in a nearly lethal grip. "Where did you hear that?" I asked a second or two later, once I was reasonably sure my voice was going to sound normal and not give anything away by coming out in a panicked screech.

Luke sat the coffee pot down and then leaned up against the table next to ours, his arms folded comfortably over his chest. He smiled a smile that was just north of a smirk, once again nailing the affable camaraderie we strived for in our new post-apocalyptic relationship world.

"Where did I hear that?" He shook his head. "It's Stars Hollow, Lorelai. News like that just floats along in the ether."

I nodded sagely at his insight and took a sip of coffee, stalling for time.

He turned to Rory. "Did she finally get Mel Brooks' face on her butt?"

"Since I don't make it a habit of inspecting my mother's butt, I can neither confirm nor deny," Rory said primly. She then grinned at Luke and took a gulp of caffeinated deliciousness from her own mug.

"But she does have one?" Luke pressed, still sounding as if he was mostly teasing.

Rory looked over at me and I pleaded the best I could with just my eyes, reminding her that I was after all her mother, the giver of life, Pop Tarts, and all things Hello Kitty. Or at least I _was_ , long, long ago.

She met my gaze for a moment, but sometime during the ups and downs of the previous year, I'd lost the ability to read her intentions. "I've heard the same rumors," was what she told Luke, much to my relief.

"Look, it shouldn't be that difficult of a question," he said, with just a hint of the exasperation I still loved to hear. "Do you or do you not have a tattoo?"

I curled the fingers of my left hand even tighter around my bright yellow bowl of coffee. "I…might," I hedged.

"You _might_? Were you not there when it was being done?" he demanded. "What was it, sort of a metaphysical tattoo?" Suddenly he straightened up, his amiable posture disintegrating. "Oh, is it _matching_?" he asked with a sneer, becoming irritated for no discernible reason.

Rory and I once again exchanged glances, only this time, both of us were worried. "Um, no, mother-daughter tattoos aren't in vogue right now," I prattled. "And you know how we are slaves to the current trends."

"We do nothing unless _Cosmo_ tells us to," Rory added.

When he looked at me, there was a flash of hurt and devastation on his face, and I understood immediately. He meant matching in a me-and-Chris way, not me-and-Rory. He was sickened by the thought we'd tattooed the date of that sham wedding over our hearts or something.

It was hard to breathe after seeing those bare emotions on him, but I managed. "No," I said hollowly. "It was me. Just me. Something I did for me."

I let him look me in the eyes. He searched, and then nodded, believing me, and I was able to relax. Well, everything relaxed except for those stubborn fingers, which continued to cling desperately to the coffee cup.

He seemed on the verge of saying something more, but a customer on the other side of the room chose that moment to speak up.

"Any chance I could get some service over here?" the guy yelled out, all snotty-like.

That gave Luke another battle to focus on. He grabbed up the coffee pot and stomped his way towards the far table. "I'd like to give you some service, buddy," he muttered as he went.

Once he was gone, Rory turned to me. "Mom, you might as well tell him. Like he said, it's Stars Hollow. Sooner or later, he's going to hear about it. It might as well be directly from the source." She gave me a significant look.

"No," I insisted. I felt unfairly attacked. Rory was supposed to be my buffer, my support. That was why we were in the diner in the first place, to celebrate her unexpected trip home. It was so much easier navigating the tricky diner/Luke stuff with her by my side.

"Remember I know of which I speak. I would have much rather heard something like that from you, instead of once again having to be informed of it by my father." Rory sounded as though she was joking, but I knew she wasn't. The kid was two generations removed from Emily Gilmore, but she sure knew how to wield the snide comments.

"Ouch," I muttered. She'd forgiven me about Paris but she wasn't ever going to forget. I knew I deserved every one of her digs about it.

Rory smiled wanly. "Tell Luke upfront. Don't let him be blindsided. I can guarantee you he won't appreciate that."

I knew she was right, but I also knew I wasn't up to the task of trying to explain it to him. "I will," I promised. "Someday," I tacked on, under my breath.

In the meantime, though, the goal was to get better at drinking diner coffee with my left hand.

* * *

The next week or so went by pretty smoothly. Rory was busy with all of her final Yale things, so that left me to figure out the new terrain at Luke's on my own. Every day I added to my repertoire of passable behaviors and felt more relaxed each time I entered through the diner's door. It was never going to be the same, of course, but at least this was beginning to feel doable. I accepted that my diner life now consisted of a one-scoop dish of frozen vanilla yogurt, and not the hot fudge sundae I'd once enjoyed.

When he had time to chat, I told him stories about guests at the Dragonfly, or mentioned some mildly humorous thing I'd seen on the news. I politely asked about Liz and the new baby. Sometimes I'd change it up and ask about TJ and Jess, if I felt braver. I learned how to give him a smile that was just a smile, nothing more, nothing less. I learned how to stop my sad eyes from following him as he made his way around the dining room. I found a way to keep my blood pumping through my heart without the platelets and white blood cells and red blood cells catching on the scarred edges inside, piling up into some sort of fatal mass.

I was learning to cope, and I felt pretty damn good about that. It wasn't a _wow, I feel great again_ scenario, but at least it wasn't _as_ painful as it had been. I could sit in the diner, drink my coffee with my left hand, get my share of gossip, and survive.

The subject of the tattoo never came back up. Maybe he was doing his best to keep to a polite set of topics with me, too. In any case, I was grateful he let it drop.

Everything was fine until the night Emily Gilmore blew it up.

OK, she didn't really, but it was after an especially grueling Friday night dinner, so I felt completely justified in pointing the blame her way.

Rory couldn't make it that week and my dad was out of town, so I was alone with Mom. I guess she thought it was as good of time as any to go through the list of my greatest faults. She started with the most recent, the fiasco surrounding Chris, the cancelled vow renewal ceremony, and me. She brought up Luke next, chastising me for the shame she felt when that announced wedding didn't take place either. Of course, she proceeded to remind me, even _that_ wasn't the first time she'd dealt with a cancelled wedding, and dragged Max into the mix. From there it was an easy hop to the Chilton kissing scandal.

I know I could have played the adult card, stood up and walked out at any time, but somehow it felt as if I deserved it, so I sat and drank my martini and offered only the feeblest of defenses in my own behalf.

My head was ready to split open by the time I left the Hartford version of the Spanish Inquisition. I drove through Stars Hollow and the sight of the diner was just so welcoming I couldn't resist.

"Mind if I come in?" I asked, poking my head through the door. I realized it was late, but the door was still unlocked.

Luke had startled when the bells chimed, but he was composed by the time he looked at me. "Sure, come on," he said agreeably, waving his hand in welcome. He went back to counting the money in the register.

It seemed so normal, felt so comfortable. I sat at the counter without thinking. I put an elbow up on the surface and leaned my head on my hand, groaning in relief at having found sanctuary.

"You look like you've been Gilmored," Luke said lightly.

I chuckled, even though his reference caused a little ache. "Gilmored, gutted, and guillotined," I agreed.

"Emily in rare form?"

"Oh, the rarest, my friend."

"You want some coffee?"

"Oh my God, you have to ask?"

He smiled at that and reached for a mug.

"Oh, hey, Luke, you don't have to do that." I roused myself from my Friday night stupor. "Just put it in a to-go cup and I'll get out of your hair."

He shrugged. "It's fine. You're welcome to stay if you feel like it."

"Even if I stay, you wouldn't have to wash out a to-go cup."

"Not a big deal. You know I'll start the dishwasher before I go upstairs."

That derailed us for a second, as both of us silently remembered that I did indeed know all of his nightly habits.

"You want pie?" he asked gruffly, sitting the coffee before me.

" _Is_ there pie?" I hooked my heels over the rungs of the stool and half stood up, trying to see to the covered domes at the end of the counter.

"Blueberry." Not waiting for approval, he transferred what was left in the pan to a plate, stuck it in the microwave for a warm-up, and then plopped a spoonful of vanilla on top of it without one bit of pleading from me.

"Thanks," I sighed, as the plate of magnificence arrived in front of me. He handed me a fork and I dove into the bliss.

He went back to the cash register as I attacked the syrupy pie.

"You know, I used to worry about you, driving home after those dinners," he revealed, after a small spell of silence.

"Did you?" I asked as calmly as possible. This seemed like a topic with the potential to go off the rails.

"Yeah. I mean, this was a while ago. Long before we…" He faded off, apparently realizing too late where the statement was heading.

"And?" I prodded, against my better judgment.

He glanced over at me. "I knew you drank while you were there. I could smell it on you, sometimes, when you stopped here afterwards."

I didn't know how to respond to that. "So you knew my alcoholic tendencies from the get-go, is that what you're saying?"

He blew out a breath of annoyance. "No, I'm saying I knew you had a drink while you were there, to cope, and I didn't blame you. I just worried about you driving back to Stars Hollow."

"Luke, if you know anything about me at all, you know I would never do anything to put Rory at risk," I said frostily.

"I do know that," he quickly agreed. "But still, I used to wonder if I should offer to come over and pick you girls up after the dinners. That way you could have had more to drink, if you needed to, and I wouldn't have had to worry about the trip home."

Blueberry syrup and piecrust and tears all caught in my throat. That statement was such a perfect combo of Luke's typical sweetness and his perpetual desire to fix anything he could that I felt close to crumbling. A couple of platelets snagged on the jagged edges of my heart, and I put a hand there, in an attempt to rub away the pain.

"Well, geez, Luke." I plunged into humor, my typical way to deflect. "Why _didn't_ you do that? Think of all of the suffering you could have spared me over the years. _Sorry, Mom, gotta go – Luke's out in your pristine driveway in his old dirty truck, waiting for me."_

He smiled softly at that. "What did she have the guillotine out for tonight?"

"Apparently I've been some sort of devil child since the moment of my birth." He snorted a quiet laugh that sounded like agreement and I turned on him. "Don't tell me we finally found some common ground between you and Emily Gilmore."

"No, I just…" He waved a hand over his head. "Your mother just defies all belief, you know?"

"Oh, I know all right," I said moodily, viciously sticking my fork into the half-melted ice cream on top of the pie.

Luke wrapped rubber bands around some of the piles of bills and zipped them into the bank deposit bag before walking the few steps it took to stand before me. "Well, go on. Let's hear 'em."

"The devil child stories?"

"You bet."

I guzzled down some coffee in preparation. "When I was six, I tried to drown the neighbor boy in our pool."

"Did you?" He was already beginning to grin.

"I do sort of vaguely remember it. It wasn't malicious on my part, though. He was such a cutie, all blond and freckled, and I adored playing with him. I think I thought that if I found a way to hide him underwater I could keep him or something."

"Nobody had explained to you that water and air were two different things?"

"Guess not." I smiled back at him before I cut off another hunk of pie. "Mom reminded me tonight, though, that it turned me into a pariah for a while. Everybody on our street was scared to let me play with their kids."

Luke snickered. "Yeah, kids are so mean. One attempted drowning and they don't want anything to do with you."

"At least not in the fancy-schmancy neighborhoods."

"What else did you do?"

"I once tried to barter a baby."

"What? How?"

I swirled my fork through a puddle of melted ice cream and blueberry sauce. "When I was four, a little girl in my ballet class had a new baby sister. I had no idea that kids came that tiny. She was all soft and pink and absolutely perfect. I wanted her more than anything, so I offered up my new Malibu Barbie with her entire wardrobe. She thought that was a great deal, but her mom put a stop to it."

Luke looked entertained. "What were you going to do with her?"

"I dunno. Keep her in my room and hold her, I guess." I looked at him in pretended earnestness. "She was so soft, Luke! Seriously, no one could have resisted."

"You see what both of those stories have in common, don't you?" he commented.

"Sure. Me, the devil child."

He shook his head kindly. "Sounds to me like you were lonely. I think you were trying to find somebody else to live in that big, cold house with you."

He always did have the ability to take me completely by surprise. I swallowed hard, trying once again to dislodge the sudden lump in my throat. After a short pause I felt brave enough to look up at him.

I discovered he was smiling gently at me. He looked… _happy_. He was listening to my stories and I was amusing him, making him smile. At that moment I wanted nothing more out of life. That was enough.

Except…of course I wanted more. The way I always did. So I pushed, needing the moment to continue between us.

"Mom says I embarrassed her the second I was born," I said eagerly.

"How?" he wanted to know, shaking his head, willing to listen to another story.

"The doctor had me in his arms when I decided it was time to go to the bathroom. Apparently Mom believes that since I'd been holding it in for nine months, I could have waited another couple of minutes before letting go."

"Are you kidding me? She blames you for that?"

"She says that's when she knew I was a devil child."

"She did _not_ say that."

"Swear to God," I said fervently, holding my hand up to heaven. I smiled, wanting to keep him involved in the story. I wanted to keep him focused on me.

He smiled back, but the smile slowly left his face, because his eyes had traveled to my upraised hand.

My left hand.

The one with the currently exposed palm.

I immediately curled it into a fist and snatched it away, but his reflexes were faster. He grabbed it before I could tuck it underneath my thigh. He put it on the counter between us and pried open my fingers.

I whimpered, not because he was hurting me in the least, but because having him touch me again felt so good I could barely stand it.

By the time the design on the base of my ring finger was in view we were both breathing hard, although for completely different reasons.

"Lorelai, what did you – Why did you…" He carefully ran the tip of his index finger over the lines of ink. "Is this _permanent_?" he bellowed angrily at me, his patience running out.

"Darn, I told them to do it in disappearing ink, but I guess they forgot!" I snapped back at him. "It's a tattoo, Luke! Of course it's permanent!"

He dropped my hand and took a step away, looking dazed. He blinked once or twice and then rubbed at his eyes, trying to get his bearings back. "Why would you do such a thing?" he asked gruffly.

I looked at the small lines of ink on the back of my finger. I was sure he could tell it was his coffee cup, the one on the diner window, the one that had always graced the menus. From his viewpoint it was upside down, but undoubtedly he could recognize his own familiar logo.

"Why's too hard of a question," I murmured forlornly. I stared at the puddle of black ink inside the outline of the cup and followed the curly lines of steam that traveled upwards towards the crease in my finger.

"Oh, for the love of – That's too hard?" he grumbled. "OK, fine. Let's try another one. _When_ did you do this?"

I nodded. That question was easier. I could give a definite answer to that one. "Two days after Labor Day."

" _September_?" He looked thunderstruck. "You've had this since September?"

I nodded again, and he shook his head. He turned his back to me and tugged on the black baseball cap savagely. "Lorelai, what were you _thinking_?" he demanded.

"I was thinking," I said quietly. "For the first time since May, I _was_ thinking."

Luke turned back around and looked at me cautiously. My hands were shaking, but I managed to pick up the mug of coffee and take a swallow, easing the dryness in my throat.

"I don't know how the summer was for you," I ventured, "but for me…I was just numb. Not much registered. I got up, I went to work, I did stuff with Rory." I glanced at him, and he nodded agreement. "Then it was time for Rory to head back to school, and I…" I took a deep breath, not wanting to re-live those days in the slightest.

"It all started to hit," I told him. "Everything. And I realized I'd finally managed to screw up so badly that nothing was going to fix it, ever." I snorted a bitter laugh. "Talk about permanent," I said, tapping against the coffee cup tattoo. "This was going to be my life, permanently stuck in that house with my regrets, alone."

"You weren't alone long," he said snidely.

I deserved that. I absorbed it and moved on. "I had some really bad nights," I said succinctly, deciding he didn't need to know any details. "And on this particular night, I felt like I was going to jump out of my skin if I didn't move. I needed to go somewhere, do something, or I'd go out of my mind."

There was a certain glint in his eye and I knew he was considering hitting me with a Boston comment. He didn't though. Maybe he decided it would hurt him even more than it would me.

"So I went. I got in the Jeep and went. I drove to Hartford, and I traveled up and down the streets downtown, for no reason. Just to be doing something. It was after midnight when I left Stars Hollow, so it was probably two, three o'clock in the morning by then."

He still looked angry and impatient, and I forced myself to continue. "There was a tattoo shop that was still open, and on a whim, I parked in front of it."

"Good Lord, Lorelai," he groaned. Now he looked horrified. "Please tell me you didn't walk into someplace like that by yourself at that time at night!"

I pointed at the tattoo. "Obviously I did."

He groaned again and buried his face in his hands.

"Look, I did it as a lark, OK? I thought I'd go in, chat with whoever was around, look through the sample books, and have a great story to tell the next day. I thought it was just a way to get through a bad night." I took a deep breath. "But…"

I waited for Luke to tell me to go on, to ask me what happened next, but he refused. He just continued to stare at me, half-furious, half concerned.

"But surprisingly, as soon as I stepped through the door, I knew exactly what I wanted. I have no idea where it came from. It wasn't like I'd been thinking about it, but maybe I had, somehow, because I walked right up to the lady behind the counter and told her what I wanted. She sketched out a design, I modified it a little bit, and then I sat down and she did it." I shrugged. "Zip-zap, done."

There was a long pause as Luke digested my story. I took another sip of coffee, trying to appear nonchalant, but my hands were trembling badly. When I put down the real mug of coffee, he took my hand, turning it over so he could once again see the inked cup.

He ran the pad of his finger caringly over the design. "It had to hurt."

"It did. I was glad it hurt. I wanted it to hurt. It felt so good, to have a pain that was physical, instead of locked up inside."

He dropped my hand abruptly and stepped away once more. "I can't believe this didn't hit the gossip chain until a month or two ago."

"That's because I didn't want anybody to know," I admitted.

"Regrets?" he speculated.

"No, none at all," I insisted. "The other day, you know how I said that I did it for me? That's absolutely true. It was all for me. As soon as I walked out with it, it felt so right, but I didn't want anybody else to know. I didn't want to explain. I just wanted to know it was there. It was my comfort. It was my secret."

He shook his head. "How did you hide it?"

"Easier than I thought," I told him. "Turns out not many people see the palm of your hand, especially not your left hand, if you're right-handed. You wave with your right hand. Point with your right hand. You can wear mittens. Or a ring big enough…" I faded off, realizing too late what I was saying.

Instead of devastated, he looked intrigued. "He didn't know?"

I shook my head. "Not until one day, he walked in while I was putting on some hand lotion, so I had my jewelry off. It was kind of the same thing as tonight, I wasn't even thinking about it, you know? I was talking, like always, gesturing, and he grabbed a napkin and then grabbed my hand. He thought I had melted chocolate on my finger." I smiled grimly. "Which, with me, is always a possibility."

Luke nodded.

"Anyway, when he saw it, he…" I bit my bottom lip momentarily, trying to accurately describe his reaction. "He went a little ballistic."

Luke's head jerked up at my choice of words. "What does that mean? Lorelai, do you mean he –?"

"No, no, no," I said quickly. "I just mean he was angry. He didn't understand. He didn't know how long I'd had it, so he was taken completely unaware. We were already not seeing eye-to-eye on a lot of things, and the tattoo just added to our issues."

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. It turns out you can't just pick up where you left off 20-some years ago."

He looked at me with new understanding. "He moved the milk?"

"He moved his daughter into Rory's room without even asking me."

Again with the eyebrow.

"Sorry, I didn't mean for that to sound as evil stepmother-ish as it did. I had fun with Gigi. I did. I just thought there were some things we should have discussed first and that was one of them."

He shrugged. "OK."

"And then he found the letter," I said gloomily.

"What letter?"

"Your letter. The one I wrote to the court for you."

"He didn't know about that?" Luke asked, alarmed.

"Why should he? Again, it was my thing. It had nothing to do with him!" I said hotly.

Luke wisely said nothing, although I could tell he was thinking of something he'd like to say.

"So there was the tattoo, there was the letter, and then he didn't show up when Dad was in the hospital. That was it. Done. Over," I summed up.

"Wow, OK. I didn't, uh – I didn't realize that," Luke mumbled.

"But what really ticked me off," I added, recalled anger making my words sharp, "was that he told Rory about the tattoo when he left!"

"Wait. Are you saying… _Rory_ didn't know?"

"No. It was my thing, Luke, _my_ thing! But he told her, like it was all part and parcel of some malicious plot against him, and then she thought it was another Paris thing, something that I didn't tell her until it was over and done with –" I suddenly heard what all I was saying and I shut up fast.

Luke was watching me, his head cocked to one side. "Paris, like Rory's weird friend Paris?"

"No." I could barely force the words out. "Paris, like the city in France."

He thought for a moment, putting the pieces together. "Rory didn't know about that either?" he asked quietly.

I shook my head.

"Why?"

I couldn't answer. I couldn't, not without falling to pieces in front of him, so I violently shook my head again.

"Lorelai –"

I jumped down from the stool and reached for my purse. "I should go. I've kept you here way too late tonight." I tried to find my billfold, tears beginning to blind me.

"Don't even think about it," he said firmly, pointing at my purse.

I nodded in gratitude and slung my purse strap over my shoulder. I turned to leave, but found I couldn't.

"Luke." I turned back to face him – which wasn't an apt description because I couldn't bring myself to look him in the face. "I'm very much aware that I haven't said sorry."

"What?" he wondered. He was confused, I'm sure, by what I was attempting to say as well as by my stop and start actions.

"I keep looking for a bigger word," I tried to explain. "A better word. Sorry is what you say when you accidentally spill coffee. It's what you say when you slop melted ice cream on the counter." I picked up a napkin and wiped up the puddles of vanilla that had dribbled from my pie plate. "But when you break promises…when you break somebody's heart…sorry's not good enough. You need a bigger word," I said desperately. "And I haven't found it yet, although I keep looking through the Thesaurus. When I do find it, I'll be back." I almost sprinted to the door, I was so anxious to get out of his sight.

"Lorelai, wait! Wait, wait – will you just wait?" He ran after me.

I didn't want to stop, but I did. It was the novelty of him coming after me that made me pause. _If only…_

"Listen, there are things I need to say to you, too," he said wretchedly.

"But not tonight," I begged.

"But –"

"Not tonight!" I said frantically. "I can't…" I almost sobbed, but somehow managed to stifle it. "I can't. Please, Luke!"

He looked the way he did on that morning when I told him what I'd done. He looked like he did in the hospital, when he saw the ring on my finger. No way could I stand there and see him like that yet again.

I flung open the door and ran to the Jeep.

* * *

I thought being at home would help, but I was wrong. I was so wrong.

I paced, then paced some more. When that didn't work, I paced.

I went upstairs, washed the smeared makeup from my face, and put on my pajamas. Still keyed up, I went downstairs and tried to watch TV. When that had no effect I sat at the kitchen table and tried to decide if more coffee would help my nerves at all.

Finally I wondered if this was the night I was going to go get another tattoo.

There was a soft knock at the kitchen door. I wasn't too worried about going to open it. I figured that robbers and serial killers probably didn't knock first. Plus I had a pretty good hunch about who it was.

For a moment I paused, debating if I should let him in since I was wearing pajamas, but then I remembered that he'd often seen me in pajamas, long before we were an 'us.'

"Hi," I said, stepping aside so he could come in.

"Sorry. I know it's late," he apologized.

"No problem. I certainly wasn't asleep." I motioned him to the table. "Want anything? Water, or tea, maybe?"

He shook his head and awkwardly sat down at the table. I joined him in the awkwardness.

"Sorry," he said again. "I know you said no more talking tonight, but I wanted to check on you, make sure you were all right."

"I'm fine," I said insincerely.

"Plus…" He sighed. " _I_ need to talk. There are a couple of things I really need to say to you."

"I understand…I just wish…you wouldn't."

He sighed again and pushed his hands through his hair. I appreciated that he wasn't wearing the terrible black hat.

"You remember when we ran into each other at the mall, right after Christmas?"

"Of course," I shrugged.

"I was so proud of us that day," he said, finally turning to look directly at me. "We were so polite. So civil. So mature. I told you about needing the letter for court and you were willing to try to write one. When I walked away, I was feeling so good about it all. I kept thinking, 'See? We can do this. We can learn to be around each other again.'"

I nodded, finding no reason to disagree with his assessment.

"But before I could even try to pat myself on the back, it all crashed down on my head."

I waited, but he said no more. "What did?"

"Before that day, I tried not to think of you at all, and if I did, it was to remind myself what you'd done to me, and how I was well rid of you."

"That sounds about right," I whispered.

"But that day, I watched our girls talking together, getting along like they'd known each other forever, and I realized…it could have been like that from the beginning."

I nodded, waiting.

"And I knew, then, that the reason it wasn't that way was because of me. I was the one who insisted on keeping it all separate."

I tucked my right hand into a fist and pressed the knuckles against my lips, determined not to fall apart.

"Have you found a better word than 'sorry' yet?"

I gulped and shook my head.

"Then I guess it will have to do. I'm sorry, Lorelai. I'm so sorry."

His voice broke and I broke, too. Tears filled my eyes.

"I told April I'd meet her back at the truck, because I couldn't just keep walking through the mall like everything was fine and normal. It wasn't fine and normal. Nothing was ever going to be fine and normal again." His voice was full of desperation. "And the worst part was, I knew it was too late to do anything about it. I couldn't fix it. It was way beyond fixing. I was just going to have to learn to live with knowing it was my fault and I'd lost you. I'd lost the family we could have had."

"Luke, please –"

"You know what else? Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if I had a good reason for any of it, but I don't. I don't know why I kept it all from you; why I was so hell-bent on keeping April separate from everything else. I was so focused on managing this situation with Anna and April, and believing I needed to do it all myself, because it was my mess…but that still doesn't explain why I shut you out."

"Stop. Please stop." I bowed my head, putting one hand over my streaming eyes. The other one – the one with the tattoo – I held up towards him, frantic for his heartfelt words to cease before I was completely decimated.

"I see your face sometimes." His voice was low and full of agony. "In the diner, while I'm cooking. Before I can fall asleep at night. And every time, I see how hurt you were. I hear your voice; the things you said to me because you were in so much pain. And I ignored it all. I pushed it aside. I pushed _you_ aside. God, why did I do that?"

Self-preservation took over and I sprang from my chair, my eyes squeezed shut and my hands over my ears. "Luke, shut up! Shut up, shut up, _shut up_!"

He was up out of his chair and around the table to me before the last 'shut up' was out of my mouth. He wrapped his arms around me and held me against him, letting his flannel shirt soak up my tears. He held me tightly and swayed us back and forth, murmuring 'I'm sorry' into my hair about a million times.

The weird thing was that for the first time, the crying seemed to help. Each tear absorbed by his shirt seemed to deplete the reservoir of bitterness that had been brewing inside me for so long. After a few long, satisfying minutes of his tender care, the crying stopped. I continued to snuffle against his chest, not exactly content, but lulled into a peacefulness that I just barely remembered.

After a time, he moved to pull away, and I did too, not knowing where to look after the separation.

"I am sorry," he mumbled, one more time.

"Yeah, I heard." I wiped my eyes, in case not all of the tears had ended up on his shirt. "Me too."

"I don't know where we go from here," he admitted.

I sighed, shakily. "Neither do I."

"Could I…could I ask a favor, though?"

"Sure, why not?" I agreed with a shrug.

"Keep coming to the diner."

I frowned at him, not comprehending. "What? Why?"

"It hurts to see you, but it's worse when I don't," he explained, with brutal honesty. "So please, will you promise to keep coming to the diner?"

"As long as you've got the coffee," I said, too flippantly. I held up my hand and pointed to the steaming cup on my finger.

He went still and stared at me coldly. "Is that what the tattoo's about? The coffee?"

I took a deep breath, prepared to be honest as well. "You know it's not. You know exactly what it means. Just like you know why I wanted it marked right where it is." I looked at him straight on, openly.

I could see the tension in his shoulders ease when he believed me. "So I'll see you tomorrow?"

"You will." I began to walk with him to the kitchen door. "Although I'll try to dress a little nicer than this." I pulled at my pajama top.

"Oh, I don't know." He actually smiled at me. "I always thought your pajamas were just a different version of my flannel shirts."

"Ha!" I couldn't believe he'd made me laugh, on this night, of all nights. "I never thought about it like that." I smiled back at him.

"Goodnight, Lorelai," he said, his voice extra-soft.

"Goodnight, Luke," I replied, my voice just as soft.

* * *

I didn't go to the diner the next day.

I did act like a grown-up, though, and called him. I explained that it had been a rough night and that's exactly what my face looked like. My eyes were still red and puffy and although I wanted to see him, I didn't need the rest of the town to see me in my current state. He said he understood and we agreed that I'd be in on Sunday instead.

Luke spotted me the second I walked through the door. He said something to Caesar, nodded to me, and disappeared into the back.

I walked up to the counter and plunked down on my usual stool, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, in spite of the way my panicky heart was dancing to its own insane rhythm.

A grinning Caesar immediately brought me a mug of coffee. "Hi, Lorelai. Luke says to make sure I keep this topped off for you today."

"Thanks," I acknowledged, taking my first sip. I burned my mouth, of course, but it was _so_ worth it.

About five minutes later, Luke emerged from the kitchen and sat a platter down in front of me. It was laden with a cream cheese-stuffed French toast that I adored and Luke normally declined to prepare for me. While I was staring at the bounty, agog, he stepped away again and returned with a plate of bacon and my own shaker of powdered sugar.

"Enjoy," he said, winking. Then he disappeared again.

My diner visit had been deliberately timed to avoid most of the post-church brunch crowd. By the time I finished the last bite of my powdered sugar heaven, the diner was practically empty.

Luke came towards me, the coffeepot hovering over my mug, and I shocked both of us by putting my hand over the cup, blocking a refill.

"I didn't think I'd ever say this, but no more coffee. I don't have room for one more drop," I told him.

He chuckled and sat the pot down, before leaning on the counter, coming closer to me. "You're right; I thought hell would freeze over before I heard those words from you."

"It has been a bit chilly," I observed with a smile. "Thanks, Luke. That was an awesome breakfast."

He nodded, but seemed distracted. A little uncomfortable. "Could I show you something?"

I waggled my eyebrows suggestively, because the whole situation seemed so normal I could almost believe it was before, and I was still free to tease him however I saw fit.

"Not like that," he scolded, sounding exasperated, and that seemed normal, too.

He stretched out his left hand, and that was the first I noticed he was sporting a Band-Aid. "What'd you do?" I asked, concerned. "Did you cut yourself? You know I'm the klutz in the kitchen, not you."

He merely shook his head and concentrated on peeling off the piece of protective plastic.

And there, on the base of the ring finger on his left hand, was a rather delicate looking dragonfly.

I stared at it for a long time, speechless.

He cleared his throat. "The burly guy who inked it tried to talk me out of such a girly design, but I told him why I wanted it, and I'm pretty sure he had tears in his eyes by the time I left."

"Luke." All I could do was whisper his name. I couldn't get anything else out. My eyes were still glued to his finger.

"I've been thinking a lot, trying to figure out what happens next." He closed up his hand and took it away, forcing me to finally look up at him. "I don't want to say too much, and risk damaging this sort of truce we've got now, but on the other hand, I don't want to stay silent and keep you in the dark." He cautiously nudged his right hand against mine. "I know not communicating was our problem in the first place, and I don't want to make that mistake again."

I nodded, just to let him know I was following what he was saying. I nudged his hand back in solidarity.

"I just want you to understand, that I'm still…" He shook his head. "Whenever you're ready – if you're ever ready to forgive me…if you can –" He broke off, apparently unable to land on the words he most wanted to say.

I didn't have the words either, but I acted on impulse. I took his left hand and uncurled his fingers. Then I pressed my coffee cup against his dragonfly.

He winced. Manfully, but it was definitely a grimace.

"Oh, God, Luke! Sorry!" I snatched my hand away and blew what I hoped was a soothing stream of cool air at his sore finger. "That has to still be smarting."

He met my eyes. "You're right, though. That type of pain is completely bearable."

"Yeah." Very gently, I let my fingers mingle with his.

"Do you, uh, do you have anything to say?" he asked, his voice full of hope.

I sat back on my stool. "Rory's graduating soon, and then she'll be going off to who knows where. These next few weeks are going to be a little bit crazy."

He stood up, leaning away from me. "Your point is?" he asked roughly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"That now might not be the best time to expect me to give my full attention to what's going on with us." I sighed. "That topic is too important to not give it its due. I don't want either of us to jump back into something until we're absolutely one-hundred percent clear on what we're doing. I want to be able to focus on it, and not be pulled away by something else that needs my attention." I studied his face. "We both need to be absolutely certain about what we want."

He lost the defensive posture. "True," he agreed. "So, what do you propose we do for now?"

"This," I said, gesturing about us. "We keep doing this. Talking, even if it hurts. Answering whatever hard questions we need to throw at each other. Seeing each other. Getting used to being in each other's lives again."

"You've never… _not_ been in my life," he said in a husky voice.

"I concur," I said tenderly. "But now I think we need to prove that to each other."

He thought for a moment. "Agreed," he said somberly.

"Wow." I collapsed onto the counter. "Do me a favor and check the door? Is there any sort of Rumpelstiltskin-like character coming into the diner right now?"

Before Luke heard the end of my question, he'd already looked at the door. "No," he then dourly informed me. "Why?"

"Because this has to be some sort of fairy-tale situation." I sat up and counted it off my fingers. "One, I refused coffee. Two, I was rendered totally speechless. Three, I was the one to say we needed to slow down and not jump into something." I shook my head at him. "There's got to be an evil queen involved in this somewhere."

He raised an eyebrow. "Do you have reason to believe your mother is _not_ in Hartford this morning?"

I grinned at him in approval for a second or two before hopping down off the stool. "I should probably get going. Go work off some of that bacon and powdered sugar."

"I'll, uh, see you later?" His face was passive, but his voice betrayed his nerves.

"Of course," I assured him. "You know I'll be plenty hungry by dinnertime."

He nodded. "Just so you know, I'm not making that cholesterol–laden dish for you again anytime soon."

"We'll see about that," I said airily, accepting the challenge. "Hey, Luke?" I said, when I reached the door.

"Yeah?"

I fiddled a bit with the doorknob. "There's this big karaoke thing going on at K.C.'s later this week. Miss Patty and Babette have roped me into going."

"Yeah?" he said again.

"So maybe you should think about coming, too," I bravely suggested.

Our eyes met and held. "Maybe I should," he said.

I waved at him with my coffee cup. "Bye, Luke."

His dragonfly waved back. "See you later, Lorelai."

I smiled as I stepped out of the door. "You will," I promised both of us. "You will."

* * *

 **Inspiration:** A week or two ago, Pinterest thought I should see this cute little tattoo of a coffee cup on someone's finger. I guess they were right.


End file.
